


First Edition

by hanap



Series: Devil's Dyke [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, I'm totally into buff Aziraphale, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by a Hozier Song, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, References to Hamlet, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanap/pseuds/hanap
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are in the middle of moving into their new cottage at the South Downs, and Aziraphale panics when he realizes one of his books is missing. Crowley finds it going viral on Twitter for a very specific reason.(Inspired by "Shrike" by Hozier.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Devil's Dyke [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746577
Comments: 21
Kudos: 191





	First Edition

**Author's Note:**

> _I couldn't utter my love when it counted  
>  Ah, but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now  
> I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted  
> Ah, but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now_  
> \- Hozier, "Shrike"

Crowley stood watching Aziraphale through the front window of what had formerly been a tiny study, which had expanded itself magnanimously to a floor space just slightly smaller than the old Soho bookshop. Aziraphale’s belongings were strewn haphazardly throughout the space, the old sofa currently occupying the place of honour in the middle of the room. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, waiting to be filled with books. That is, if Aziraphale ever came in. Crowley pushed open the window impatiently.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t need any help out there?” Crowley called, as Aziraphale tried to figure out the best configuration of boxes to bring in, so as to take fewer trips back and forth into the cottage. It reminded Crowley strongly of young children assembling Lego blocks (those were his creation; he’d been particularly proud of them until he had unwittingly stepped on one with his bare foot).

“Yes, quite sure!”

Aziraphale finally laid one last box on top of a towering stack, before bending down to pick up the entire pile from the bottom. It was so high that the box on top was teetering slightly from side to side as Aziraphale walked towards the cottage. Crowley was completely unsurprised, but he couldn’t help feeling somewhat alarmed, and to be honest – more than a little aroused. For all Aziraphale appeared to be all softness and warmth, Crowley had a personal knowledge of the immense angelic strength that lay beneath the exterior.

He quickly walked to the double doors that led into the study and flung them open for Aziraphale, making a perfunctory attempt to help him by pushing the boxes near the top into a more stable position, though Aziraphale was perfectly capable of doing all the heavy lifting without his assistance. He bent to set the enormous tower of books down, and Crowley noticed quite suddenly the outline of the muscles in Aziraphale’s thighs flexing as he did so. He swallowed visibly as Aziraphale got to his feet. Crowley’s standard-issue corporation was much stronger than the average human, but he was nowhere near as strong as a principality of Heaven. He felt his face warming rapidly, thinking of the ease with which Aziraphale had lifted boxes upon boxes of books all afternoon.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said ruefully, surveying a small black smudge on his sleeve. He tried in vain to rub it off with his thumb. Almost without thinking, Crowley walked closer, pursing his lips to blow it away. Aziraphale looked up at him then, and Crowley was surprised to see the delight clearly on his face.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale beamed at him with such happiness that Crowley felt compelled to object.

“S’nothing, angel. Hardly even counts.”

“You always did know what I needed, even if I didn’t ask.” Aziraphale’s eyes softened, and Crowley knew they were both thinking of the same thing – a large blue stain on a beloved coat miracled away with only a thought. Crowley reached up reflexively to push his sunglasses up his nose before he remembered that he wasn’t wearing them. After six thousand-odd years, it was still difficult to remember that he was now permitted the luxury of looking without needing to hide. He combed his fingers through his hair instead, furtively glancing at Aziraphale as he did, feeling slightly awkward.

“Would you hold onto these for me?” Aziraphale reached out and Crowley met him halfway, extending his hand. Aziraphale placed his cufflinks into Crowley’s outstretched palm – his favourite pair. He’d gotten them custom-made for Aziraphale in 1972, each cufflink simply yet delicately shaped into a golden angel wing. 

“No problem,” Crowley said, and nearly dropped them as Aziraphale started rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves, slowly exposing his forearms to the elbow with every fold of his sleeve, the lines of muscle and vein rippling slightly as he moved. Even now, it still caught him off-guard how they were now allowed this casual intimacy that had been denied to them so long.

“Now, where do we begin?” Aziraphale’s eyes roved over the mess of boxes piled up throughout the room, his brow furrowed in thought.

Tucking the cufflinks safely into his pocket, Crowley reached out and tugged Aziraphale closer to him. He could do this now. He could touch Aziraphale whenever he wanted.

Aziraphale smiled, as though understanding Crowley’s unspoken request, and kissed him gently, his hand against Crowley’s chest. Crowley sighed as Aziraphale’s arm encircled firmly around his waist, pulling him closer. He was lost for a few minutes in the heady sensation of touch, of Aziraphale’s soft lips, warm and demanding against his, the heat of Aziraphale’s corporation burning through him.

Aziraphale finally pulled away, albeit extremely reluctantly. His hand had made his way up into Crowley’s shirt against his wildly beating heart, before traveling down slowly, caressing the wiry muscles of his stomach before coming to rest on the buckle of his snakeskin belt. Crowley stared down at him, breathing hard. Aziraphale’s pupils were blown and a flush had risen to his cheeks.

“What?”

“I rather thought the unpacking could wait for a bit.” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes fixed on Crowley’s lips, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths. “If you would be so amenable.”

Crowley grinned as Aziraphale tugged him back into another searing kiss, his hands already pulling insistently to undo the belt and pull it free.

“Thought you’d never ask, angel.”

\---

Three bottles of vintage sauvignon blanc later, Crowley lay sprawled shirtless across the sofa, somewhat drunkenly tracing at the familiar pattern of the faded blanket draped over it. His wineglass wobbled in his hand, dangerously close to spilling wine on the rug, though the wine would never have dared to do such a thing.

After several hours of hard work, nearly all the books were finally on the shelves, and Crowley had disposed of the empty boxes with a snap of his fingers. He could actually see the hardwood floor now, and he could probably walk to the end of the room without tripping over anything. But maybe not right now.

“We done yet?”

He sat up slightly to see Aziraphale examining his books carefully, his fingers running again and again over the spines of the books in a particular section of one shelf. Crowley squinted at it from his spot on the sofa, trying to recall what they had put there.

“Everything alright?” He made to get up from the sofa.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry.” Aziraphale spoke a little too quickly.

Crowley frowned. Even while drunk, he could tell something was wrong. He heaved himself off the sofa and walked toward Aziraphale, who was still much too sober for his liking. Aziraphale’s hands were clasped together, but he was fidgeting slightly, the way he did when he was anxious. Crowley watched Aziraphale curiously, his head cocked to one side, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s nothing, only… You didn’t happen to see a copy of _Hamlet_ here, did you?”

“Angel, you have nine copies of _Hamlet._ ”

“Yes, but I’m looking for a specific first edition from 1603.”

Crowley thought for a minute. Aziraphale’s precious first editions had been packed into hermetically sealed boxes to keep out the damp. He couldn’t recall unpacking a first edition of _Hamlet_ that afternoon. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall having ever seen it, not even in the bookshop.

“Sorry. I don’t remember that one. You sure it isn’t there?”

He stepped closer to the bookshelf where Aziraphale had been hovering, tracing a finger slowly along the spines of the Shakespeare plays to check that it hadn’t just been missed. Unfortunately, Aziraphale was right – it definitely wasn’t there.

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale was biting his lip, looking thoroughly worried.

“Why did you need that particular one?”

“No, no. No particular reason. It’s just that it was – I couldn’t find it. That’s all. Oh, no.”

“It’ll turn up, angel.” Crowley hastened to reassure him, seeing how distressed he was. He smoothed his fingers gently over the crease that had formed between Aziraphale’s eyebrows.

“Must’ve shelved it somewhere else by mistake. We’ve still got some boxes left to unpack, anyway. Could be in there.”

“You’re probably right.” Aziraphale sighed. “I hope.”

“You need to take a break.” Crowley pulled a wineglass out of the firmament and cupped Aziraphale’s hands around it as it filled itself with wine. “C’mon, angel. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Aziraphale smiled at that and clinked his glass gently against Crowley’s.

“Yes, and I don’t intend to waste another second of it.” Aziraphale took a sip from his wine before drawing Crowley close and and kissing him deeply.

\---

A week later, the library was no longer in a state of chaos. Only a few boxes remained, which contained some newer novels Aziraphale had not yet read, and therefore did not need to be attended to quite as urgently. The sofa had been moved to its customary spot near Aziraphale’s writing desk, as it had been at the bookshop. Crowley was now perched on the arm of the sofa, feet up on the seat, watching Aziraphale as he fussed over the arrangement of the books. He was wearing the white gloves he used when handling particularly delicate tomes. He’d been doing it for the better part of the week, though as far as Crowley could tell, everything was already more or less in the same order it had been at the bookshop.

He took his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling idly through the day’s news, when a tiny news item caught his attention.

**LOOK: Priceless first edition of _Hamlet_ found with a timeless love letter (UPDATED!)**

[Photo: Book bound in dark red leather with faded gold detailing]

A tweet from a young resident in Soho, London went viral after she announced that she had picked up a copy of Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_ on her walk home from work. The Internet went wild after she shared that not only was it published in 1603, there was a beautiful love letter inscribed on its first page, dedicating the book to an unknown recipient. Oh, to be romantically courted with Shakespeare and sweet words of love! What a love story for the ages! Though we certainly hope that the unknown couple had a happier ending than poor Hamlet and Ophelia.

Click here for more photos!

UPDATE: Shakespeare’s Globe has gotten in touch with our lucky book finder! Stay tuned for more!

UPDATE 2: The archivists at the Globe have confirmed in an official statement that this is a priceless first edition of _Hamlet_ from its very first publication ever in 1603. What an amazing find!

Crowley sat frozen on the sofa, completely taken aback. He looked up from his phone slowly to glance at Aziraphale, who was bent over, examining a row of books on a lower shelf.

“Angel.”

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale didn’t look up, still intently checking the spines.

“Remember that copy of _Hamlet_ you were looking for the other day?”

That got Aziraphale’s attention. He straightened up quickly to look at Crowley, his brow furrowed. Crowley noticed that he looked rather flushed, for some reason.

“What about it? Have you seen it?”

“I was just wondering when it was published. I remember you mentioned the year.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face fell slightly. “It was published in 1603. One of the last copies left from that particular run, if not the last one.”

“What does it look like?”

“Well, I rebound it with leather sometime in the 1900’s. Dark red leather, a bit of gold foil on the cover.” Aziraphale sighed, looking distressed. “It’s very precious to m–my archive. Do let me know right away if you find it anywhere.”

Crowley could feel the beginnings of an unpleasant emotion simmering inside him, one that he did not want to name until he had gotten to the bottom of this. He stood up and walked to Aziraphale, who was starting to look a little alarmed.

“What made you think of it suddenly? I hadn’t mentioned it since –”

“Last week.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face and tilted it up slightly towards his, studying his reactions. “Tell me, angel. Why is it so important to you?”

“I told you, it’s a first edition. One of the last of its kind.”

“Is that all?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Crowley.”

“Was it perhaps a gift?” Crowley’s voice came out in a hiss, his eyes narrowing. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he blushed scarlet, his face warm against Crowley’s palm.

“How – how did you find out about that?” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley held his phone up wordlessly in response. Aziraphale took it gingerly, using his forefinger to scroll up slowly as he read the news item that Crowley had just read. Crowley watched him slowly as he read the article once, twice, three times, tapping on the screen once. He immediately groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“Crowley, please tell me this is all just an enormous joke you’re playing,” he said, his words muffled by his hands.

“Would I lie to you? I’ve never seen that book in my life.”

Crowley was trying to control himself, but whatever was bubbling inside him must have seeped into his voice, because Aziraphale lowered his hands slightly to look at him, confused.

“My dear, whatever are you so upset about?”

“Because I can’t understand why you won’t just tell me why the bloody book is so important,” Crowley said, his voice a low snarl in his throat. “Which of your precious humans gave you that, angel? Why are you trying to hide it from me?”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. It would have been comical had Crowley not been feeling… whatever he was feeling. He watched as Aziraphale looked down at the phone he still clutched in his hand and glanced back at Crowley with the expression of someone who had just put all the pieces of a puzzle together.

“Crowley.”

“What?” Crowley growled.

“You didn’t look at the photos, did you?”

“What are you on about?”

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before handing him back his phone.

“See for yourself.”

Crowley unlocked his phone and scanned the photos in the link Aziraphale had opened. There was the same photo of the book with its red leather binding. He scrolled down. A photo of the book’s pages, brittle and yellow with age. The next photo was a zoomed-in shot of the words on the page. _What a piece of worke is a man! How Noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In forme and mouing how expresse and admirable! In Action, how like an Angel, in apprehension, how like a_ – Crowley scrolled down.

There was only one photo left. Words formed in old-fashioned copperplate flowing smoothly down the browning paper… in an all too familiar hand. Crowley looked up at Aziraphale quizzically.

“Hang on. You wrote this.”

Aziraphale nodded, his fingers nervously fidgeting. Crowley zoomed in on the photo, his face inches away from the screen, trying to get a closer look at Aziraphale’s script, the ink slightly faded.

As long as I live, I will never forget this day. Even after so long, you never fail to surprise me. How foolish I have been to come to my senses only now, after so many years.

Let me hold onto this, even just for tonight. Let me remember what you endured for my sake. I would walk through hellfire for you, beloved, if it meant keeping you out of harm’s way. How I longed to shout to the highest heavens, the deepest hells, to every living thing that could hear, the moment that you handed me my books.

I see clearly now in a way I never have before, that every single book in my collection is a reminder of you. None more so than this one. I know you are not fond of reading, but always I have treasured _Hamlet_ because of what you did for me.

Crowley’s ears were ringing, and his hands trembled. He was starting to understand now. He didn’t want to look up at Aziraphale for fear of what he might see on his face. But wait… there were a few more lines, written in a tiny script at the bottom of the page. Crowley squinted at the screen, barely able to make out the letters with how much he had zoomed in on the photo.

_Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
Doubt that the sun doth move,  
Doubt truth to be a liar,  
But never doubt I love._

London, 1941

Crowley felt as though he had been struck hard in the stomach, stunned and unable to draw breath. He took a few unsteady steps and sank down on the arm of the sofa.

London in 1941. The blitz. Consecrated ground. The books. Aziraphale had agreed to be driven back to the bookshop, and Crowley had done so, giddy with triumph despite the agony of his blistered feet. Happier than he had been for nearly a century when he thought that he might have damaged their already precarious relationship permanently with his request for holy water. At last, they were back on solid footing. Unable to help himself, he had driven back to the destroyed church after dropping Aziraphale off, and taken the eagle statue home with him. A tangible reminder of that night. He had so few memories to hold onto, after all, no one would begrudge him that.

He had thought Aziraphale was acting strangely then, quiet and withdrawn, but he had chalked it up to all the stress of the evening. After he had bid goodbye to Aziraphale, Crowley thought that he had caught a glimpse in the rear-view mirror of Aziraphale watching from the window as he had driven away. Nothing particularly strange about that – but it was the way Aziraphale’s palm was laid flat against the glass, as though he were reaching for something.

Totally distracted by his own thoughts, he was startled when Aziraphale came forward and gently drew his phone out of his hands, tucking it into his breast pocket.

“Say something, Crowley.”

Crowley lifted his eyes at last. Aziraphale stood before him, his hands clasped tensely together, gazing intently at Crowley with a strange look on his face. He could barely think. He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, exhaled loudly through his nose.

“For Heavens’ sake, angel. What am I supposed to say to that?”

He relented somewhat when Aziraphale flinched. They’d spent too many years holding each other at arm’s length, and they had many habits that needed to be unlearned. He stretched out his hand, palm up, allowing Aziraphale to come closer and envelop him in his arms. He laid his cheek against Aziraphale’s broad chest, breathing in the familiar scent that was so distinctly Aziraphale. The warmth of cedarwood with something comforting that reminded him of vanilla. There was an odd ache in his heart as Aziraphale reached up to stroke his hair, gently running his fingers through the soft curls.

“I wanted to give it to you when we had properly settled in here, as a housewarming present of sorts. My own little remembrance from the night you swooped in and swept me right off my feet.”

Crowley groaned loudly and buried his face against Aziraphale’s chest.

“What a piece of work you are.”

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me, dear. I believe I’ve already beaten you to it.” Aziraphale bent down, pressed his lips against Crowley’s hair. “You can hardly blame me. You were so dashing that night.”

“Shut it. I can’t believe I had to read your confession of undying love for me on a tabloid news site!”

Aziraphale laughed, running his hand soothingly up and down Crowley’s back.

“I’m so sorry. I was so sure I’d packed it with everything else.”

“What if they put it on display at the Globe?” Crowley lamented, pushing Aziraphale away half-heartedly and pounding his fists on Aziraphale’s chest. “Angel, how could you do this to me?”

“Then by all means, let them.” Aziraphale caught hold of Crowley’s hands in his, lifted them to his lips. Crowley felt his chest constrict painfully at the look in Aziraphale’s eyes, fierce and warm, full of intensity.

“I want the whole world to see it, Crowley. I couldn’t utter my love when it counted. I’ll spend all my existence making it up to you.”

Crowley’s throat tightened. He’d never had Aziraphale’s way with words and it always overwhelmed him when Aziraphale spoke like that. He settled for tugging him closer, kissing him so fervently that both of them were panting by the time they broke apart. Crowley felt the flush on his face growing at the way Aziraphale was looking at him. As though he was something to be adored.

“I do too, you know,” Crowley murmured.

“You do what?”

“Love you.”

He clamped his mouth shut, unexpectedly embarrassed, and thanked Someone that his hair was long enough to cover his burning ears. Aziraphale was gazing at him, speechless for once, his blue eyes wide.

“Was it that much of a surprise?” Crowley said dryly, to cover up his mortification. The silence was growing unbearably long. “We’re only living together in a cottage in the middle of nowhere. No big deal –”

Aziraphale surged forward abruptly and kissed Crowley hard, his lips urgent and demanding. He pulled Crowley flush against him, and Crowley let out a sigh against Aziraphale’s lips at the sudden friction, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. He was completely lost in the pleasure of Aziraphale’s hands roaming all over him hungrily, and couldn’t help a whine of frustration when Aziraphale pulled away.

“I’ve found that this is by far the best way to shut you up, my dear,” Aziraphale said, looking impossibly smug as he smoothed a lock of Crowley’s hair behind his ear. Crowley snorted, even as he shivered at Aziraphale’s light touch.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“Oh, but I am.” Aziraphale laughed, and it was as though he was glowing with joy. He bent down and dropped a kiss on the end of Crowley’s nose. “Look at you. The beauty of the world.”

“Stop it,” Crowley complained. “I’ve had enough Shakespeare for one day.”

“I’m quite sad to lose my copy of _Hamlet_ , though,” Aziraphale sighed. “Poor William gave it to me himself. I do believe we made quite an impression on him.”

“What an understatement. You were the sole reason the bloody play was a success.” Crowley leaned forward, kissed Aziraphale lightly on the lips, his smile full of mischief. “We’ll drive up to London sometime. Think I’d rather like to see it myself, if you know what I mean.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale spoke with a warning tone, though there was no real heat behind it.

“By all rights, that book is mine, angel. I’ll be _blessed_ if I let them keep that. I’ll rip out the page with your eternal love written on it, if I have to.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested. “You can’t ruin something like that, it’s over four centuries old!”

“I’ll take the whole book then.”

Crowley knew he’d won when Aziraphale sighed, thinking it over.

“I suppose it doesn’t quite count as theft if it’s your own property…”

“Sounds about right.” Crowley smirked, already running through the beginnings of a plan in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a writing challenge to myself to write a South Downs fic inspired by a Hozier song composed of fluff! This fic crossed over with another of my series with Aziraphale writing letters to Crowley. 
> 
> I was sent this [Tumblr post](https://galwednesday.tumblr.com/post/616944185600360448/thinking-abt-immortality-and-how-meticulously) and I was so tickled with the idea that I ran with it. I've quoted _Hamlet_ quite liberally and out of context for the sole purpose of indulging in making Crowley happy. My apologies to whoever may be offended by it. And yes, I've been spending a lot of my quarantine downtime on Twitter. Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/contraststudies) and [Tumblr!](https://contraststudies.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Will Crowley stage a heist at the Globe? Let's see... 
> 
> Subscribe to this series if you'd like to see more South Downs stories!


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